


purple is a private taste, closer to the blood

by seinmit



Series: Writing the Rainbow [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Rimming, Rough Sex, Spit As Lube, Vaguely Dark Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-06 20:56:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20513372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seinmit/pseuds/seinmit
Summary: Bucky left Wakanda without much of the capacity to give a fuck.





	purple is a private taste, closer to the blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [K_Popsicle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Popsicle/gifts).

> I found your tags EXTREMELY INSPIRING. Specifically inspired by the tags: Canon? Where We're Going We Don't Need Canon, Good Guys Being Oh So Bad, Absolute Unconditional Loyalty, Best friends making bad decisions together, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, the fic you wish someone would write for you, lover is becoming a literal monster and that's hot, Rough Sex, Sudden Realization - Oh No They're Hot
> 
> Title from the poem [Naming What is Risen, by Camille T. Dungy](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/146218/naming-what-has-risen)
> 
> Thanks for Gammarad for the excellent SPAG check.

Bucky’s welcome in Wakanda did not last as long as any of them were hoping. T’Challa called Steve, not two months after they had taken Bucky out of cryo and gotten the trigger words out of his head. T’Challa told Steve that it was time for Bucky to go.

“Is he alright?” Steve asked, anxiety thick in his throat. 

“He needs to leave,” T’Challa repeated, implacably. “It is clear that this is not the right place for him.” 

The part of Steve that was stupidly, uselessly defensive over Bucky wanted to pick a fight, wanted to growl at him and blame him for everything—even though he didn’t have a clear idea what everything was. 

But T’Challa’s eyes were dark and serious. He did not look to be in the mood to humor Steve. 

“Of course, we will still help your efforts in hunting HYDRA,” T’Challa said, as if to soothe him. “Wakanda is doing what it can to support the world.” 

Why not Bucky, Steve thought, but bit it back. 

“Shuri insisted on giving him another arm,” T’Challa continued. “He should be ready for the fight.”

Steve nodded and texted Sam that they were going to go back to Wakanda before heading to the next site on their list.

* * *

Bucky was waiting for him on a picturesque green grassy field. The sky was blue. They were far enough away from the city that it felt like the nature documentaries that Steve used to watch—like there was no such thing as civilization. 

He felt his chest squeeze when he saw Bucky standing there—slimmer than Bucharest, but strong and tanned. A beautiful black and gold arm on his left shoulder. 

Shuri stood next to T’Challa and her eyes were red-rimmed. She was hissing to him in Xhosa, but his hand was heavy on her shoulder and he was visibly ignoring her. 

Bucky had a little smile on his face. 

“Hey Buck,” Steve said. 

Bucky held out his arms wide and Steve’s heart stuttered in surprise. He didn’t hesitate, though, and took the last few steps between them at something close to a jog. He clutched Bucky to his chest and breathed in the herbal sharp scent of his hair. 

“Missed you, pal,” Bucky said. His voice was even rougher than it had been in Bucharest or Siberia. 

“What’s going on?” Steve said, almost inaudibly against his ear. 

Bucky shrugged both shoulders, flesh and metal, and didn’t seem eager to explain. 

Once they released each other, Bucky leaned down to pick his duffel up, slinging it over his shoulder. He looped his other arm easily around Steve’s waist.

He turned to face the Wakandans, who were standing about eight feet away. 

“Thank you, Princess,” he said. 

Shuri honestly looked close to tears. 

“Sergeant Barnes—“

He cut her off with a laugh. 

“Nah, sweetheart, we both know that ain’t right. Bucky works. And I mean it. Thank you.” 

Steve kept looking at her, at T’Challa’s face carved out of stone. Foreboding hovered on the edge of his mind, but it was hard to keep track of in the warm sunlight, with Bucky touching him so easily. 

“Thank you,” he said, for himself. He was more grateful than he could say, that Bucky was alive and willing to come with him. 

Shuri’s face screwed up and he saw T’Challa squeeze her shoulder, hard. 

“He no longer has the trigger words active,” T’Challa said. “That is what we promised.”

He gestured at the soldiers that were standing behind him and they started packing supplies into Steve’s ship. 

“Contact us if you need anything else,” he said. He took Shuri away with him and left them.

* * *

Bucky didn’t stop touching him. There was barely a moment when his hands weren’t resting on Steve—the nape of his neck, the small of his back, running casually through his hair. Steve felt half-drunk with it, lopsided. He kept staring at Bucky, wide-eyed. 

He wanted this—he had wanted this for as long as he could remember, but they had been hesitating for decades. Since Steve had been fourteen and Bucky was shooting up into gorgeous manhood and they both spent way too much time staring at each other. 

They had a shared understanding, that it wasn’t worth it, and it had been enough to be friends. 

Somehow, Bucky changed it on him—but Steve figured, happiness bubbling in his gut, maybe it was time. Nothing was the same as it was then. They didn’t have the same constraints and there weren’t the same laws. For fuck’s sake, he wasn’t even Captain America anymore. 

So when Bucky barely waited for the hatch to close up to push him against the wall and kiss him, Steve thought he was pretty okay with that. 

He kissed back, Bucky’s metal hand cupping the back of his head protectively, to prevent it from banging against the metal of the wall. His flesh hand hitched Steve’s thigh up around his own waist, grinding in harsh and fast. 

It was like being run over by a tank, that kiss—biting and sloppy. 

“Well that explains a whole hell of a lot,” he heard Sam say behind them and he felt Bucky’s lips curl into a smile. Bucky didn’t stop the kiss, though—if anything, he deepened it, biting down hard on Steve’s lower lip. Steve gasped, startled and turned on more than he could say by the idea of an audience. 

His eyes opened and he looked over Bucky’s shoulder—Bucky taking the movement not as a cue to back off but to drop his head down to Steve’s neck, to bite and suck at his pulse-point as if he was trying to overwhelm the serum with stubbornness and leave a bruise. 

Sam looked a little stunned, a little amused. Natasha, behind him, was blank-faced. 

“Bucky,” he said, guttural. “Bucky, stop.” 

Bucky didn’t stop, not until Steve physically pushed him away. At that, he subsided and stood there, head ducked low and staring at Steve with the hooded gaze of a predator. 

“Welcome back, Barnes,” Sam said, with a giant smirk on his face. 

Bucky rolled his eyes, but he flashed a quick, sweet smile at Steve.

“Where we headed to, Cap?” he said. Steve felt a little bit like he needed to sit down.

“Madrid,” Natasha said. “I’ll fill you in.”

* * *

Bucky spent all his time watching Steve, it felt like. His face was open and honest, almost childlike. It made Steve’s skin feel warm. 

“You know you don’t have to fight,” Steve said, remembering the look on his face in Bucharest, the little apartment he had made for himself, the journals and plants. 

Bucky made a face, but followed it with a grin. 

“I want to,” he said. “Trust me, you’d know if I didn’t. Since when have I stayed quiet when you dragged me into a fight I didn’t want to be in?”

Steve was a little troubled by that, because if he recalled correctly Bucky had fairly frequently bit back complaints and waded into things to drag Steve back out of them, patching him up and fussing with gruff sincerity. 

But Bucky seemed like he was being honest. And it was good that he was sure. It made sense to Steve, anyway, that Bucky would want his pound of flesh now that he was feeling better and didn’t have to be afraid of HYDRA operatives taking over his mind if he got too close. 

They both fell silent. Bucky went back to watching Steve intently. It made the close quarters of the ship feel even smaller and Steve had to close his eyes to keep from looking back, to keep his dick from chubbing up in his uniform.

Natasha tried to start a conversation with Bucky in Russian, which Steve didn’t speak, but he could tell Bucky’s tone enough to know that he was dismissing her questions with clipped, short answers. 

Sam had his head buried in his phone, the last time Steve dared to open his eyes. 

His phone vibrated at his hip and he fished it out, eyes still closed, and brought it to his face, peeking to read. 

_????_ Sam had texted him. 

He groaned and scrubbed his hand over his face, deciding to ignore it. The sound apparently cued Bucky to sit down right next to him, practically on his lap. He guided Steve’s head to rest on Bucky’s flesh shoulder and started to pet his hair. 

“Sleep,” Bucky said, his voice warm. “You look exhausted.” 

It felt good enough that Steve didn’t have the heart to tell him that his behavior was most of the reason for Steve's tension. He sighed, pressed his face into Bucky’s muscled arm, and tried to drift off.

* * *

Things got even weirder in Madrid. Bucky had finally taken his eyes off of Steve long enough to suit up, depositing weapons all over his straightforward black tac gear, but he didn’t seem normal. 

At one point, he leaned over and plucked a gun right out of Sam’s hands. 

“The fuck?” Sam said. 

“I’ll use it better than you,” Bucky said, shrugging. He checked it over with easy, quick movements and then strapped it to his back. 

Sam glared at Steve, as if he had something to do with this—Steve shrugged, helpless. Maybe he should step in, but Bucky wasn’t all wrong. He was a crack shot and if he thought he could use the gun better, maybe he should have it. This was the sort of mission where firepower was the name of the game. They wanted to leave a smoking crater where the HYDRA base had been, no need for subtlety. 

When Steve didn’t say anything, Sam made a face at him and kicked Bucky. Bucky kicked him back, immediately—and hard enough that Sam yelped. 

“_The fuck._”

“You kicked me first,” he said mildly. He stood up and walked over to Steve, grabbing his head by the hair and maneuvering him in for a fierce, quick kiss. 

“For luck,” he said, winking. He looked exactly like he had in 1939, with that wink. It left Steve breathless. 

Bucky patted his head, digging his nails for a second into Steve’s scalp, and walked right out of the ship. 

“I think I liked him better traumatized,” Sam said. 

“Sam!” Steve said, sharp. 

Sam looked unrepentant. 

Steve glanced at Natasha, who had been silent throughout all of this. She looked thoughtful.

* * *

Bucky cut through HYDRA like a warm knife through butter. He was glorious and terrifying to watch—the same brutal efficiency of his fight in DC and during his escape from custody, but somehow more. It was like an animal who had fought under command finally slipped his leash. 

It was clear he was favoring his knives—he hadn’t bothered to reload his firearms after the first clips emptied and he dived into the fight with tooth and nail. 

Steve was usually the main melee fighter in their crew, so it was a constant surprise to have another body wrecking shit next to him. And Bucky was not the most considerate person to fight next to. He was unrestrained, ruthless. Steve kept finding himself nearly tripping over bodies that Bucky left behind him. 

He wasn’t on the top of his game, either—too distracted by Bucky. He punched a guy with the side of his shield, splitting his head open, but his eyes were on Bucky grappling with his own combatant near him. A neat bullet hole appeared between the HYDRA guard’s eyes—must be from Natasha, who was covering them. 

Bucky dropped him and snarled, looking irritated. He stalked to the door, reared up, and kicked it open without looking back at them. 

The fight didn’t take much longer after that. Natasha set the charges. Bucky lit a cigarette, leaning back against the wall and watching them. His face was smeared with blood, some flaking near his mouth and dripping down his chin. 

Steve was a little horrified to find arousal burning low in his stomach. 

“Did you rip someone’s throat out with your teeth?” Sam demanded, getting up in Bucky’s face a little bit. 

Bucky flicked ash off the end of his cigarette and blinked slow at him, like a cat. 

“Barnes—“ 

Bucky pushed himself off the wall and walked up to Steve, passing right past Sam. 

He got into Steve’s space, leaning in to speak in his ear. 

“Can we get out of here?” he said. “I’ve got plans for you.” 

“Are you feeling okay, Buck?” Steve asked. This close he smelled like cordite and hot metal, blood and sweat. Underneath it all, there was the herbal edge of whatever he’d been using as shampoo. It was heady and he struggled not to reel from it. 

“Never better,” he said. “Never more myself.” 

His voice was honest and warm. Steve reached to grab his waist, feeling the thick muscle under body armor. 

“I missed you,” he said. 

Bucky nuzzled his neck, biting down. 

“I’ve been missing you the whole time I’ve known you,” he said. “Not anymore.” 

“Boys,” Natasha said. “Don’t make me get a squirt bottle.” 

“I don’t know what that means,” Steve said. 

“It means you’re acting like animals,” Sam said, unimpressed. 

Bucky snorted, leaving one last little lick on Steve’s skin, before backing off with his hands showily up. 

“You a prude, Wilson?” he said. 

“Naw, man, just not turned on by _viscera_.” 

“No taste for the finer things,” Bucky said. He cast Steve a glance, as if to bring him in on the joke. Steve swallowed. Before approximately ten minutes ago, he’d have agreed with Sam, but he wasn’t so sure anymore. 

“I think you’ve broken him,” Sam said, passing Bucky and poking him. Bucky slapped his hand away hard enough that Sam hissed, rubbing his wrist. 

“Jesus,” he said. 

Bucky ignored him. 

“Romanoff?” 

“Yeah, we should head out,” she said. “We’ve got five minutes until it blows.”

* * *

Bucky took his dick out and peed on the edge of the explosion. 

Sam laughed at that, so Steve considered it a win on the whole.

* * *

Bucky, Steve, and Sam all waited in the ship on the edge of a forest. They were a few hours out of Madrid now, but consensus had been that they needed a motel tonight. Natasha was the one to wash up with baby-wipes and go in to get them some rooms. 

Sam only spoke high school Spanish and the color of his skin made him instantly interesting. Steve was a noteworthy face and didn’t speak any Spanish at all. They all agreed without speaking that Bucky was probably not the best call, even though he claimed to speak perfect Castilian Spanish. 

The three of them sat quietly. When Bucky lit a cigarette, Sam threw a fit until he rolled his eyes and left the inside of the ship. He stalked out to stand in the open air, lightly silhouetted by the setting sun. 

Steve couldn’t take his eyes off of him. 

“This is not the Bucky Barnes I expected,” Sam said. 

“He can definitely hear you,” Steve reminded him. 

“Good,” Sam said. 

He looked at Steve for a long time. Steve felt his cheeks burn, but he kept his eyes steadily on Bucky’s back—the line of him, in the twilight. The glowing cherry on the end of his cigarette. 

“Did T’Challa say why they wanted him to leave?” 

Steve shook his head. His stomach was twisting with a complicated set of emotions. This wasn’t the Bucky that he had known back before the war. That Bucky had been charming, easy—he had worked so hard with every choice to make the people around him comfortable. A natural people pleaser. 

It had been a lot of the reason why Steve had never bothered to push on the tension between them. Bucky had been so caught up in being that good Barnes kid—he’d have never considered throwing it all over to be Steve’s disreputable queer lover. He’d been half-offended, even, when Steve didn’t make the same sort of effort to fit in, be normal. 

Even in the war, he had made himself indispensable to his unit with a complex mix of aggressive mother-henning and charming solicitude. It had been more brittle, then. More of an act than it had ever been in Brooklyn. 

Steve remembered thinking that Bucky should just let it go. Stop trying so hard to make everyone around him like him. He remembered thinking that maybe his sickly health and unimpressive looks had been a weird type of blessing—he’d never had the problem of wanting everyone to like him because he’d known from go that it was impossible. 

This Bucky was different. But Steve had known he was going to be. He wasn’t stupid. 

And part of him was grateful that apparently Bucky had lost most of his capacity to give a fuck. 

Sam made a humming noise, watching him. 

Steve tore his eyes away from Bucky to look at him. Sam looked very serious. 

“I made a choice a long time ago,” Steve said. “I’m going to keep making it, you understand?” 

“Yeah, Steve,” Sam said. “I get it.” 

He didn’t look happy about it. 

Natasha walked up. She said something to Bucky in Russian that made him laugh and he took the key out of her hand. 

“Don’t worry, Wilson,” she said. “Our room is on the other side of the motel.” 

“How far away could it be? What are there, three rooms?” he bitched. 

Steve had stopped paying attention to either of them when he caught the look on Bucky’s face. His mouth was dry and his uniform was starting to feel too rough for his skin, as if his entire body was ramping up for what was coming. For what he _hoped_ was coming. 

He glanced again at Bucky’s face, saw the look in his eye—yeah, it was definitely coming. 

He felt like he was in a dream, almost, walking toward the motel with Bucky next to him. It was a pretty long walk—they left their futuristic ship well out of sight, stealth-mode or no. They were silent the whole time. Bucky was chain-smoking, going through cigarettes faster than he would have dared when money was dear, lighting each new one on the butt of the last. 

Bucky crushed the last one beneath his boot, opened the door to their room and let Steve inside. 

He closed it, locked it, did the deadbolt—and then jumped Steve. 

Steve made a noise as he caught him, bracing himself enough so that he wouldn’t fall over, as Bucky kissed him like they were going to fight. Steve cut his lip on Bucky’s tooth and his fresh blood joined the blood already on Bucky’s skin. He tasted copper and ash and it made Steve kiss him harder, looking for whatever Bucky tasted like underneath all that blood. 

Bucky tried to muscle him to the bed, but Steve was going to hold his own here, if this was the way they were going to play it. He never backed down from a fight. 

He lifted Bucky up, all three hundred odd pounds of muscle and reinforced metal, and slammed him back into the wall hard enough that a lamp smashed to the ground. 

Bucky grinned into his mouth, manic—eyes shining in the half-light. 

“Hey there, Steve,” he said. 

“You taste like an abattoir,” Steve said. He bit the soft underside of Bucky’s chin, the bristles of his stubble rough on his tongue. 

Bucky laughed and it was an incongruous light, clear sound. 

“You don’t seem to be complaining,” he said, wrapping his legs around Steve’s hips and rolling his whole body up against Steve’s dick. He was hard and throbbing between his own legs, so tightly wound and contained by his combat suit that he felt like he was going to bust out of it unintentionally. 

He kissed Bucky for a few moments more, trying to chase him into the breathlessness that Steve felt. When he was panting in a satisfying way, Steve lifted him up again and moved him over to the bed, dropping him. 

Bucky immediately started stripping himself out of his tac gear—unbuckling and unzipping with deceptive ease. He tossed his body armor next to the bed where it crumpled slowly, revealing its stiff weight and internal structure. He arched his back, the gleaming lines of his stomach and chest making Steve stop and stare. 

With a smile, he shifted his pants and boxers off of his hips in a few easy movements, kicking them to the side of the bed. He took a moment to bask underneath Steve’s gaze, streaked with blood and mottled with bruises. Steve wanted to press his hands into every single one. 

Bucky lifted himself up with just his stomach muscles, both hands reaching for Steve and hauling him down. He took the combat knife out of Steve’s belt and held it, flat, against Steve’s chest. 

“Either you get yourself naked immediately or I cut this uniform off of you,” he murmured. 

“Fuck,” Steve said, considering it—but it was hard enough to keep supplied without destroying good gear. He stripped, not getting off of Bucky to do it. The rough scrape of his uniform seemed to work Bucky up even more, flush rising in his cheeks clear even in the low light. He threw his arms away from Steve, knife still glinting in the grip of his metal hand. It had the same dull menace as the matte black of his arm. All of Bucky had the same dangerous gleam—his eyes underneath heavy lids, the flash of his teeth and the wetness of his tongue as it slipped out to lick his own lips. 

Steve felt like he might have died somewhere awhile back and he wasn’t sure if this was heaven or hell. Either way, he had no intention of going anywhere. 

Bucky grabbed his chin and pulled him down, once he was finally naked, kissing him again. His other arm wrapped around Steve’s back and Steve could feel the press of his knife’s hilt. 

“You gonna do something with that?” Steve said, voice rough. 

Bucky laughed, shifting to press his thigh in between Steve’s legs hard, rocking up. 

“What about that?” Bucky said. “You gonna do something with _that_?” 

Steve groaned and bit, something about Bucky right now driving him into an animalistic intensity that he’d never allowed himself during sex. 

“What do you want, Buck?” he said. 

“Everything,” Bucky said. “I want to do it all.” 

He sounded giddy and it made Steve laugh, suddenly tender. 

Steve kissed Bucky’s cheekbone, right over an already healing cut. 

“What first, though?” 

Bucky slipped his hand down between them and grabbed Steve’s cock, rubbing his thumb over the head. 

“I’ve been thinking about having this fill me since 1936. Seems like now I get it, what do you think?” 

Steve grit his teeth and rolled his hips into Bucky as if he was already fucking him. 

“Do you have any lube?” 

Bucky let go of his dick and pushed him off of him with a flat palm on Steve’s chest. He dropped the knife next to them on the bed and Steve knocked it off, just in case. 

Steve sat back on his heels and watched Bucky turn around and get on his forearms and knees, thighs spread. His back curved in an enticing arch and his balls hung heavy between his legs. 

“You can get me wet on your own,” Bucky said, an order. 

Steve licked his lips and cursed. Bucky laughed again—so much laughter, right now. It was making him as high as the sex. 

He shifted so he could lean in, use both of his hands to spread Bucky wide and reveal his hole. He spit, watching the saliva glisten as it dripped down his crack, and then he followed it with his tongue. 

He’d never done this before, but the immediate overwhelming taste of Bucky’s sweat made him realize that he was fucking into it. It was like being smothered by Bucky—none of the blood from the rest of his body was here, just proof of a days worth of exertion. It was filthy, raw, and Steve sucked a kiss on his hole like he was wanting even more. 

Bucky moaned, low and loud, and Steve pressed his thumb against him, almost dry, to see if he could make his voice crack. It just got him louder, pressing his face against the bed. 

Steve licked into him, feeling the clench of his muscles around his tongue, and he found himself helplessly rocking his own dick against the bed. He gathered wetness in his mouth and spit into Bucky, over and over, trying to get him as slick and wet as he could. One day, he was going to sink in and spend hours doing this—but right now, he needed to get inside him as fast as possible. 

He skipped the first finger and pushed two into Bucky—he didn’t know if he’d done this before, but Steve knew that he could take it. And take it Bucky did, arching his back and welcoming him in. 

He fingered him almost perfunctorily, biting a harsh red mark into the flesh of his ass. 

“Okay, that’s good,” Bucky said. “Get your cock into me.” 

Steve didn’t need to be asked twice. It was going to hurt—but he thought they’d both like that tonight. 

He shifted to get behind Bucky, his dick in his hands, and he pressed the head against Bucky’s hole once, twice, pulling away each time. 

“I’ll beg you for it,” Bucky said, immediately, without a hint of hesitation or pride. “Please, Steve—fuck me. Fuck me right now.” 

“Beg prettier,” he said. “Beg me enough that I forget years of you running away from me.” 

“Fuck,” Bucky said, hoarse, thighs spreading even further. “Please, Steve. I want it—I want it so bad. I’ve always wanted it, I’ve always _needed_ it, so fucking give it to me, give it to me right now—“

It was the most demanding begging Steve has ever heard, but it was enough to make him groan and sink all the way in, flattening his entire body over Bucky’s. Bucky could take it—he could take his dick, he could take his weight, he could take the hard pace that Steve immediately set, hips slamming into him enough that the bed knocked into the wall with rhythmic thumping. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Bucky chanted, voice cracking. It drove Steve faster, biting the meat of Bucky’s shoulder. He reached out and wrapped his hand over Bucky’s metal one, using it as support as he drove himself hard into him. 

His other hand he wrapped around Bucky’s hips and grabbed his cock, jacking him off in a rough counterpoint to his own hips. He was hard and leaking—Steve had to take his hand off long enough to bring it to his mouth, lick off a taste—he wanted to taste every bit of Bucky and he liked the whine he made when the sensation of Steve’s hand disappeared. 

Steve gnawed on his skin and gave him back his hand, Bucky’s whole body pressing back into Steve’s dick. 

Neither of them was going to last, but Bucky was going to come first if it fucking killed Steve, and it just might, it just fucking might—he was hot and tight, he burned around him, like his dick was being fucking _choked_. 

The people in the next room banged on the wall and Steve laughed and Bucky yelled something that sounded foul in Spanish before finishing in a glorious, showy moan. 

He spilled over Steve’s fingers, body shaking, finally sinking underneath Steve’s weight. Steve didn’t pause for a moment, just fucked into him harder—finally starting to lose his rhythm, starting to be overwhelmed by this crazy fucking day. 

Steve came and bit down enough that he tasted blood and then collapsed entirely, a deadweight on Bucky. They both panted for a long moment, without any words. Steve swore he heard ringing in his ears. 

“Good job,” Bucky said. Beside the roughness in his voice, it honestly sounded like he could be complimenting Steve’s shooting. 

Steve snorted and rolled off of Bucky, laying on his back. The bed wasn’t really big enough for the two of them, so his arm dangled off the side, fingers brushing the carpet. 

His dick felt tender, laying soft and slick against his own thigh. He only had a second of feeling the incongruous coolness of the weak motel air-conditioning before Bucky crawled on top of him. 

“No you don’t,” he said mildly. Steve didn’t ask him what he meant and just reached up to stroke his hair. He felt drunk and all his muscles thrummed with a hard fight and a hard fuck. 

Bucky fell asleep first, but Steve wasn’t long behind.

* * *

When Steve woke up in the middle of the night, needing to piss like a racehorse, Bucky had pushed him so close to the edge of the bed with aggressive cuddling it was easier to let himself fall then get up any other way. 

He thumped to the ground and one of Bucky’s eyes opened to investigate. When he spotted Steve he grumbled sleepily and turned over. 

Steve grinned like a moron. He tripped over his pants on the way to the bathroom and it made him think to grab his phone, eyes bleary. He didn’t bother to turn on the bathroom light as he did his business, dick in one hand and phone in the other. 

He had a bunch of texts from Natasha. 

_I got in touch with Shuri_, the first one read. 

_T’Challa is stonewalling. But Shuri said something went wrong with the procedure to take out the triggers. He doesn’t have any brainwashing anymore, but it also seems like his impulse control took a serious hit. He is totally uncontrollable. Not malicious, but without any ability to follow instructions he doesn’t want to follow_. 

Steve considered that. It wasn’t exactly a surprise, given the behavior he’d seen all day. It also wasn’t nearly enough to change his mind. He didn’t even have to take a moment to pretend to think it over, to consider the implications. If Bucky needed to be wild after seventy years of control, Steve would be right there with him—especially if today was a glimpse of what that looked like. 

_I’m sure T’Challa would take you and Sam in, if you wanted to go_. 

Steve figured that would get his message across clearly. 

He washed his hands, phone in his mouth, and went back into the motel room. Bucky was awake. He could see his face, heavily shadowed—the only light was from the parking lot, a warm yellow, and it left him looking alien and distant. 

Steve met his eyes full on and pointedly dropped the phone on the floor, crawling into bed to spend some more time kissing him. They were super-soldiers, they didn’t need that much sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Bucky and Steve went for a walk in the sun. It was a sleepy little town. Bucky held Steve’s hand, without a single thought for who was watching. He didn’t hunch his shoulders or wear a baseball cap. His eyes were shining blue and his hair was sleekly tied up into a bun. His face was cleanly shaven. 

He stole a peach from a market stall and the only time Steve let go of his hand was when he went back to pay for it, Bucky laughing at him the whole time.


End file.
